


The Godfather

by therogueheart



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe, Anal Fingering, Angst, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Barebacking, Bratty Peter Parker, Daddy Kink, Daddy!Tony Stark, Dirty Talk, Doggy Style, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, God-Father Tony Stark, God-Son Peter Parker, Godfather AU, Heavy flirting, Iron Man - Freeform, M/M, Pseudo Incest, Sass, Shameless Smut, Starker, Tumblr, Underage - Freeform, heavy kissing, no spiderman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-26
Updated: 2019-09-26
Packaged: 2020-10-31 00:49:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20783183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/therogueheart/pseuds/therogueheart
Summary: When Tony signed a document at 20-something on his sixth-or-something drink, he never expected to actually have to fulfil his part of the agreement.[Alternatively: Tony Stark made a drunken promise to be Peter Parker's Godfather.]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is copied from my tumblr account @starkerisendgame.

“I’m sorry, could you repeat that? I thought I just heard you say ‘kid’, ‘guardian’ and my name in the same line” Tony mumbled, sitting up straighter and ignoring the pounding in his head to eye the professional looking woman over the rim of his glasses. She eyed him back, a flicker of annoyance breaking her expression before it smoothed and she cleared her throat.

“Mr. Stark. I understand this must be a difficult time for you, after losing a close friend. But according to a contract drafted in 2001, you and Richard Benjamin Parker came to a legal agreement that you would be named God-Father to Peter Parker, labelled as his legal guardian in the event the boy has no immediate family able to care for him”.

The contract she slides over states exactly that, with two neat and authentic signatures at the bottom of the sheet. One belongs to him, messy and clearly done when he was drunk. The other belongs to Richard, equally as chicken-scratched onto the paper. There’s some vague awareness in the back of his mind about this. But he’s not willing to allow it to the forefront of his brain.

“Legal guardian” he repeated, reaching for the tumbler of water and taking a sip, groaning as he set it down to massage his temples. Richard’s funeral had been the night prior, and the last thing Tony had expected was a lawyer at ass o’clock in the morning, accompanied by a contract and apparently, a whole human being.

She sighs, like he is single-handedly managing to get on every single on of her 7,000,000,000 nerves. “Yes, Mr. Stark. In the contract it states that you are to become the sole legal guardian of Peter in the event his immediate family is unable to provide adequate care for him-”

“Of course they can’t. They’re dead” he mutters, and he doesn’t have to look to know the glare she sends his way.

“This includes any capacity in which his care is required from health, financial and residential. The paperwork was filed yesterday morning. As of today, you are the legal guardian of Peter”.

Peter. Vaguely, Tony remembers a disconcertingly quiet bundle in a soft, blue blanket, held close to Mary’s chest. The $200 gift basket and the custom-knitted blanket and the share in stocks that Tony had gifted. Peter had been a large factor in he and Richard drifting apart. Richard was focused on building his family. Tony was focused on escaping his.

“Right” He huffed, sitting upright and pausing long enough to stop his vision swimming. He desperately scrambled for a coherent thought and she folded her hands neatly, eyeing him as though he were a ticking bomb. With the way his brain begun to ache, he felt like one.

“Fuck Richard and that vintage bourbon” he hissed, reaching to loosen his tie. She startled, linking at him owlishly as he snatched up the contract, scouring the words.

**I, Anthony Edward Stark, swear….Legal guardianship in the event of….By the decree of Richard and Mary Parker….God-Father to Peter Parker….Until Peter Parker turns of legal age…Inheritance of Parker Developmental….**

He cursed again, snatching open the drawer on his desk to pull out a flask. The whiskey burnt his throat and took with it the rest of the filthy words he wanted to spit.

He wasn’t angry. Not really. Richard had been his best friend at one time, and was still high in his regards. Drifting apart over the years due to different priorities in life had not lessened the respect they held for each other, and Tony still remembered that strange feeling that bloomed in his heart, looking down at the pink, sleeping baby in Richard’s arms.

Except…Over time, he had forgotten about his promise. About the contract, buried deep, somewhere in his own archives. He’d never expected it to bear fruit. Not even when Richard proposed it, eight glasses in and wild at the eyes. Even when it became a legal document and he was still tipsy as he scrawled out his name.

Richard was supposed to have lived, well past the age Peter would require a God-Parent. Tony flexed his arm, looked at the chunky watch on his wrist. A thought, and it would evolve into armour. A Gauntlet. Perhaps if he punched himself in the face hard enough this would all turn out to be a drunk, horrid dream.

“Mr. Stark?” The lawyer probed gently, and he looked up at her, clearing his throat and gesturing.

“The boy. Peter”. He couldn’t bring any other words out, but she seemed to understand.

“Peter is staying with a close family friend, May Leehart. She took him in the night Mr. and Mrs. Parker died. She was informed of the contract and Peter has also been told. He is packed and awaiting pick-up”. She said it so cooly, as if Peter were a parcel Tony had to collect.

He stewed in it for a moment, before he waved a hand at her. “I will require 12 hours to prepare”. He tipped his glasses again the way she raised a brow, his expression cold. She quickly adjusted, nodding.

“I will establish a pick-up time of 2000 hours, tomorrow. Will that suffice?” She asked, scribbling down on her notepad. Tony grunted in response. Fuck, Pepper was going to be so mad.

She was, as it turns out. But not for the reason Tony might have expected. Instead of being mad that he’d drunkenly signed up to be a parent, she was mad that he had _forgotten_ he’d drunkenly signed up to be a parent. He scoffed, but could not argue.

Regardless, she helped him to arrange adjustment of the guest bedroom in his penthouse, clearing all the boxes of parts he had stacked there and establishing a double bed, nice furniture. He simply handed her a card, waving away her suggestions. He had no idea what teenagers liked these days, her guess was as good as his.

The room ended up themed in dark, molten reds and a burnished, fancy-looking shade of blue. Empty shelves line the wall and a small desk was set up near the window, already filled with stationary for Peter’s schoolwork.

Right. The kid was what…Fifteen? Sixteen? Tony shook his head as he slipped into the car, pushing his sunglasses higher up his nose. The roar of the engine helped to overtake his thoughts as he let JARVIS input the address he had been given, guiding him through the city. For all that Richard may have been wealthy, this family friend was clearly not. The apartment he pulled up outside of was in Queens, and not even ‘good’ Queens.

The block was drab, beige and like the type of place Tony might live if he wanted to commit suicide by infected rat bite. “J, eyes on the car” he murmured as he shut the doors. 

_**Yes, Sir.**_

The building was no better on the inside, shabby and with harsh lighting. Sat on one of the benches along the wall, is a boy. 

Thick, fluffy hair as dark as full cocoa chocolate is messy, hides his eyes. He’s pale, lithe and slender. Jeans hug his thighs and his shirt is a shade too tight. Tony stopped in the doorway, unsure. It was only the bags at the kid’s feet that gave him a clue. 

“Peter?” The boy looked up, wiping hastily at his eyes. They’re dark and red, his cheeks stained. He’s been crying, a lot. The boy stood clumsily, shrugging his bag onto his shoulder and approaching, arms folding defensively. 

“Tony”. It’s abrupt, flat. Tony is so used to ‘Mr. Stark’ that it threw him for a moment, brows climbing. He let out an exhale, tucking his hands into his pockets. 

“First name basis already. Look at us, we’re doing great” he chirped, leaning back a fraction to once-over the boy. He was…Attractive, he realised with a start. His face was still a little round with baby fat but he had a strong jawline coming through. Arched brows, creamy skin. He’s shorter than Tony by just a few inches. 

Peter doesn’t respond verbally, but he does shoot an impressive scowl his way. But that’s okay. Tony can deal. Teenagers are meant to be stroppy and this one just lost his parents. He can abide by an attitude, for now. Stepping aside he held open the door to the building, making a mental note to grab a hand-wipe from the car. “J, trunk, please” he requests, allowing Peter to step past. 

The car blares to life, the trunk popping open gently and lifting. Peter paused mid-step for a moment, before he continued, dumping his bag harshly into the trunk. The rest of his things are in boxes, already at the Tower. Happy had arranged pick-up earlier that day. All the kid has on him now is some clothes and personal effects. 

“Music. Do you like music? Of course you like music, everyone does” Tony announced, lifting his own door and sliding in. Peter copied, slumping in his seat and clipping his belt in like someone on death-row. The only response Tony gets is a soft grunt, so he flicks on the music, AC/DC filling the uncomfortable, volatile silence. Leaning for the glovebox, he pulled a sanitary wipe and scrubbed his hands. 

Peter didn’t say a word, not for the entire ride. But he did start crying somewhere along 29th. Tony elected to ignore it, gunning the car harder. If the kid wanted to display emotions, he could do that in the privacy of his own room. The closer they got to the Tower, the more Peter seemed to sink into his seat. 

The sliding door to the base level vehicle elevator opened for them as they approached, and Peter’s head lifted, hands coming to wipe his eyes as he sat upright and blatantly stared. Tony couldn’t help the little smirk that graced his mouth. He knew the way that he felt, when his bots and his tech first worked. That flutter, low in his gut. The building climb of awe. 

Peter glanced across at him and immediately scowled. “It’s not _that _cool” he muttered, looking away. Tony tipped his head, glancing almost sardonically across at the boy before he let go of the wheel, relaxing back. The car came to a gentle halt and clunked as the locking systems clamped onto the wheels. 

The car twisted slowly on the rotating platform and Tony popped his door, stepping out and unbuttoning his jacket. He caught a glimpse of Peter’s wide eyes as the car turned, and then the boy stepped out of the car after him, stumbling a little. Tony stopped himself from reaching out to steady him, instead wandering to where he knew the door to the second floor would open. 

Peter ambled after him, still a little wobbly and stopped besides him. “Hey, J. How’s the weather up there?” Tony asked, taking off his sunglasses. Instead of filtering through the comms piece at his ear, JARVIS’ voice filled the room around them. 

“_**Clean and ready, with a light chance of Chinese takeout in the kitchen, Sir**_”. Peter spun, eyes wide as he looked around. Tony snickered softly, and sensed rather than saw the look of death Peter threw him. 

“Oh, manners. Of course. Hey, J? Surprise, you’re an Uncle now. Peter Parker, JARVIS” he hummed, stepping off the podium as the door slid open. Peter had stopped, staring, but leapt out of the way when the car started up, steering itself past them and into an empty space. 

“_**Mr. Parker. It is my pleasure to meet you. Welcome to the Stark Tower**_” JARVIS’ voice greeted softly, and Peter gave another unsubtle look around. “_**You will not find me in any true form, Mr. Parker. I am the brainchild of Mr. Stark. I am artificial intelligence and I am everywhere**_”. 

Peter whipped around, staring accusingly at Tony. “So, what? You got an AI to spy on me? Creep” He muttered, wandering away to trace his fingertips down the bonnet of the Lamborghini. Tony snorted. 

“You think I went through the trouble of coding and creating an entire AI just because I had some kid coming to stay? Egotistical, much? JARVIS was around before you were nut in Richard’s balls, kid. Besides. JARVIS knows when to look the other way” he winked, scooping up the bag Peter had abandoned and leading the way to the small flight of stairs that led to the penthouse. 

Something dug into his hip within the bag and he subtly shifted, squeezing it closer. The unmistakable ridge of a dildo nudged at his side and he glanced down at the bag, raising a brow before looking over his shoulder. Peter was following, slowly. Stopping to stare longingly at each vehicle. 

_Huh. So there’s that._

He hopped the stairs lightly, tossing Peter’s bag onto the couch when he passed it and slipped behind the bar, reaching for a nice vintage. Pepper could scold him all she wanted. He was a father now. He deserved some damned wine. Peter came peeking around the corner a few moments later, eyes wide open as he looked around. Tony would admit, it was luxurious. While Richard and Mary hadn’t been poor, they hadn’t been on the same level as Tony and Parker Developmental was more a concept than a functioning business. 

“You’re not old enough to drink, so. I think there’s some juice in the fridge. There should be. I sent Happy for groceries. I’m not sure what functioning people eat, so. Feel free to write a list” he rambled, lifting the glass to his lips and taking a long sip. Peter stared at him blankly for a moment before kicking off his shoes, leaving them in the doorway as he bypassed Tony and opened the fridge to glance inside. It was stuffed full of food. Vegetables, meat. Chocolate, fruit. Juices and milk and vitamin water. 

“Where’s my room?” He asked instead, flicking the fridge shut and looking across at Tony, who pointed to a doorway as he turned. The door he pointed at was closed, sleek and white. Peter started for it and Tony strolled casually after him. 

“Your door will unlock automatically, based on your genetic signature. But feel free to set a passcode. JARVIS will help” Tony informed, watching Peter’s startled glance back at him before he pushed the door open. The room was impressive. Tony hadn’t looked at it closely when Pepper sent him the files, but it was lighter than he’d expected. Looked completely different to a glorified storage room. 

“A double?” Peter asked, turning in the doorway and leaning back against it as Tony stopped besides him. They were close like this, Tony’s side against Peter’s front. He turned, cocking a brow as he sipped his wine and leaned into Peter’s space a little. 

“Luxury. And, who knows. When you’re old enough to know what sex is, maybe you might bring someone back” he shrugged gently. Peter’s breathing tripped over itself and he stared, lips parting as Tony turned away. “Don’t break anything and don’t touch anything important looking. JARVIS can play tour guide” he called over his shoulder, sauntering away towards his room. He needed to change. Maybe jerk off. 

Peter watched his ass the entire way. 


	2. Chapter 2

Whatever Tony expected for the first week, wasn’t quite accurate. Peter had shut himself in his room that first night and hadn’t really come out of it, since. When he did, it was at odd times. Clearly hoping it would result in avoiding Tony. (Jokes on the kid, though. Tony was the master of odd hours.)

It was somewhere around the fourth bump-in that Peter seemed to realise avoiding Tony by making breakfast at odd hours wasn’t an effective plan. The kid had actually _sighed_ at him when he turned the corner to find Tony making a sandwich at 2:15am. “Are you staying up just to keep an eye on me?” The kid had grumped, brushing past to get to the fridge. 

Tony snorted so hard he almost choked. “Watch that ego, kid. It’s looking to be bigger than mine” he pointed out, setting down his knife and prodding at his sandwich. This whole regular eating thing was new to him, but the fridge was always full for once and it gave him something to do whilst he waited for re-boots or algorithms. 

“So, what. You just don’t sleep?” Peter had asked, the genuine curiosity in his voice only almost hidden by the snappy tone. Tony wanted to point out that they were _both _here at 2am making food. As it was, he shrugged easily, picking up his plate. 

“When the sheer exhaustion wins out. Or when Pepper does that thing with her eyebrows” he remarked back, approaching Peter and leaning past him to reach into the fridge. He left an appropriate amount of space between them, but he could still practically_ feel_ the kid freeze. Saw the slight tip of his head backwards as Tony grasped the can of beer he had been aiming for and pulled away. 

“Besides. You’d have to have been awake at several of the same points as me to come to the conclusion that forms the basis of your question and have a reasonable outcome that it would continue to form the same pattern in the future in order to have asked that” he pointed out with a shrug, taking his food to the coffee table. A small hologram hovered over it, awaiting his return. 

He almost missed the small ‘_bitch_’ that Peter muttered. He considered Good Parenting and reprimanding Peter for his language, but then he considered the factors of the equation.   
Factor One: He probably wasn’t the best role-model for a functioning adult with appropriate language. Half his vocab relied on the existence of swear words.   
Factor Two: The kid was two weeks and four days from losing his parents. Four days from his entire life being up-rooted. 

Logical conclusion: The kid was entitled to be a bit of a prat.   
Reasonable course of action: Research how long this was supposed to be allowed and what the appropriate emotional responses were. 

As it was, he sat and bit into his sandwich, rotating the hologram. It was a concept for a new reactor design. Lighter, stronger. Classier. Switching them was a nuisance but it was the one thing constantly on his mind. He rotated it again, chewing slowly. 

“Is that the arc?” Came from right against his ear, hot breath spanning his cheek and he jolted, almost throwing the rest of his sandwich through his hologram and onto the couch behind it. Peter had moved almost silently, enough that Tony hadn’t noticed. 

And he’d leaned down, right against Tony. Enough that the heat from his body spanned Tony’s left shoulder. Grumbling, he set down his sandwich and brushed the crumbs away, glancing to the side. He had a good close-up of Peter’s jaw this way, and he could see in the glow from the hologram that there wasn’t a single hair. Not even peach fuzz. 

It made him ache a little. He’d been in his early twenties when his parents had died. Had fled the nest early. Never really had a relationship with Howard, though not for the lack of trying. It had still struck him hard. Left him bottle-deep in whiskey and being dragged back to reality by Rhodey. But this kid…

Peter had been close with his parents. Meals at the table every night, they went to every school thing he had. Hung out like friends, not just parents and their kid. Peter had lost a whole part of himself, and so young. “Yeah” he croaked, shifting away a little. This close, he could see a little cut on Peter’s lip where he’d bitten it too harshly. 

“It’s a new design. Lighter, a little thinner. Breathing is a pain when you’re wearing a chest-weight. So this one’ll be better. An improvement” he added, quietly. Howard’s words still rung in his head. Beside him, Peter made a soft sound, before turning to look at him. In the blue light, his eyes seemed to glow. 

He opened his mouth, like he was going to say something. But then he pushed away. “Stop creeping on me” he tossed over his shoulder, scooping up whatever food he’d made himself and slamming back into his room, leaving Tony scowling after him. Brat. 

Tony stayed up until the sun was glaring at him through the windows and Peter’s EDM music was pounding through his door. He called it quits, then, retreating to his room and burying himself under the covers. “J. Lights, 0%, please. Initiate _Rainy Day Protocol_ with Parker and Potts only over-ride” he mumbled into the covers. 

He fell asleep to JARVIS’s quiet confirmation. 

Their week of respite passed quickly and in the same way. Peter danced around him, avoiding Tony whenever he could and being resolutely grumpy when they clashed. Tony tried to understand, really. He was a compassionate man. Logical. Understanding. 

Except he was also a barely functioning adult who slept when he had no choice, ate when he remembered and was constantly running on bare minimum. He knew he could be a handful, sometimes. Couldn’t send Pepper enough gift baskets for putting up with him. But Peter?

Tony was walking on eggshells in his own home, constantly wary of another barricade of attitude. When they did meet, Peter was sullen, stroppy. And it seemed to move past the grief stage. Peter’s eyes were no longer red at the edges and he no longer seemed to_ float_ in a state of not knowing what to do. 

Tony nearly dropped his coffee in shock when the alert to the second floor pinged and he looked up at see Peter leaning in the doorway. One, because Peter was approaching him. Two, because the kid was wearing…Practically nothing, frankly. A pale pink chiffon shirt that bunched around his shoulders and his collar like Cinderella’s dress. A pair of short-shorts in velvet black. 

“_Fuck_” he yelped, wrenching his hand away from the burner. It wasn’t a bad burn, more of a surface sting, but it was a nuisance he could have done without. At his side, Dum-E whirred excitedly, brandishing the extinguisher. Tony twisted, raising a finger threateningly. “Use that and I’m gonna donate you to Oscorp” he muttered, shutting off the burner and trying to re-call where he left the medical kit. 

** _Workbench five, Sir. Underneath the radiation prototype. _ **

“Thanks” he murmured, crossing the space. He kept his head down, resolutely not looking at the work of sin standing in the doorway. It made his gut curl, twisting with repulsion at himself. Christ, he was in his late thirties and this kid was _sixteen_. Probably still had clear cum. 

And that. That was a thought Tony was going to box up and pack away, like he’d never had it. He was going to box it up, right next to the comparison of the pale colour against Peter’s creamy skin. The way the shorts hugged thighs that were slim, but lean with definition. 

“You’re Iron Man and you burn yourself on welding jets?” Peter sneered from the doorway, his footsteps ringing in the now silent room. Tony ground his teeth slowly, willing himself not to snap. Patience, he told himself. Understanding. 

He yanked open the drawer, pushed aside the sheet of metal and pulled out the medical kit. His hand throbbed with each movement. There was a waft of something honey-like on the air, and Tony tensed, watching a small, slender hand reach for his wrist. 

“I’m going out” Peter announced, taking a packet of burn cream and biting it open. Tony blinked, frowning. Out? It was…What time was it? The sky outside was darkening. So…Afternoon? Evening? Was Peter even allowed out at this time? Curfews were a thing. Didn’t responsible parents set a curfew? 

More to the point, did responsible parents let their kids go out looking like that? 

“Where are you going? What time is it? Are you wearing that? How long will you be out?” He fired off, wracking his brain for all the questions he could think were appropriate to ask. At his side, Peter snorted, eyes rolling so hard they almost disappeared. 

“Seriously, stop. I’m just hanging out with MJ. She’s invited some friends over for pizza. Weirdo” Peter replied, smearing the cream across the red skin. Tony hissed, scowling across at Peter and defiantly wiping a hand across his temple. He was the adult here. 

“Like…That?” He winced, gesturing. Peter raised a brow at him and squeezed a little harder than he had to, taping the gauze to Tony’s hand. He let out a harsh breath, sinking down into the chair. It put him level with Peter’s stomach, the smooth expanse of skin just visible through the sheer shirt. 

“What are you, the police?” Peter griped back, pressing forwards until he was between Tony’s knees, reaching for the small scissors. “Relax. We’ve all dressed up nice. It’s a good opportunity for cool photos” Peter responded, leaning closer to snip the gauze and tape carefully. 

Tony tried to argue, really. But between desperately trying not to look at Peter and desperately fending off Dum-E the boy slipped away, nothing but the faint scent of honey to mark his presence. “_Christ_” he groaned to himself, running a slick hand through his hair. Score one for the kid, he supposed. 

Bar the odd flicker of worry, he largely forgot about it, losing himself in his work until JARVIS prompted him to call it quits, sometime around midnight. He relented and microwaved some fries and chicken, scarfing it before he plunged himself into the shower, rubbing at his eyes. He was rinsing off his hair when JARVIS’ voice interrupted the music. 

** _Sir. Mr. Parker has arrived. _ **

Arrived? Tony frowned, trying to recall what time JARVIS had said it was. The kid had been gone a while. JARVIS had nothing else to report however and Tony shrugged it off, sloughing the suds from his hair and cutting the water. He was loathe to leave it, the heat heaven on his body. 

He donned nothing but sweats, hair still dripping when he left his room and wandered the hallway, catching Peter just as he was entering his own room. “Fun night, kiddo?” He called, making his way to the bar for a whiskey. Nothing soothed pain like a good single malt. 

Peter paused in his doorway, turning to scowl at Tony. “Do you have to know _everything_ about my life? _Christ_” he snapped, stepping into his room and slamming the door. Tony blinked, halfway through uncapping his whiskey. Peter had looked…Rumpled. A little rough. But Tony supposed that was down to a fun night full pizza and god knows what photography shenanigans. He shook his head, poured a decent glass. 

Perhaps a talk about attitude, in the morning. As it was, he took his whiskey to bed, collapsing into the luxurious sheets with a low groan. As he sunk into the soft mattress he became dimly aware that he was somewhere to half-hard, a low simmer in his gut. He hadn’t touched himself since Peter had arrived. Hadn’t been fucked or fucked anyone for a few weeks prior to that. 

_Fuck it _he thought, lazily rolling his hips against the bedding. The pressure from the mattress was just enough to bring him to half-hard and he let out a slow breath, allowing his imagination to run wild. Tony wasn’t a selective lover, happy with either a man or a woman. He liked to fuck and when he was in the mood, be fucked. 

He thought about a lithe body, just a little smaller than his own. Smooth, pale skin under his touch, writhing as he licked his way down the pronounced ridges of a spine, down the the dip of a tailbone. The body beneath him panted, squirmed, pushing their ass up, begging for more. He hummed to himself, shifting a leg upwards and raising his hips just enough to push his hand into his sweats, fingertips just barely brushing the tip of his cock.

He could stop, if he wanted. It was a lazy kind of pleasure, one he could bask in for a while. And he allowed it, kept the position and idly swiped a thumb around the sponge-like skin of the head, pressing gently here and there and bathing in the warmth of the building lust. He imagined it as a tongue, wet and warm. Not sloppy - not yet. Firm and enthusiastic. Whilst Tony enjoyed being the one to spoil and devote attention to a lover, it was nice to have it reciprocated. 

“Mmph, fuck” he mumbled into his pillow, brows furrowing as he gave in, wrapping his hand firmly around the head, squeezing just gently. It was not quite like a mouth, but for himself, it was enough. He let his hand slide, skin catching and dragging as he gave a slow, slow stroke. He’d need lube, if he wanted to do much more, and he groaned, both at the sensation and at the thought of having to move. 

As luck would have it, Tony was a smart man. He pre-thought things. So whilst he had an impressive collection of toys in a large box, he also kept the odd small thing, such as bottle of lube, in his bedside stand. He twisted, pressed his hips and his hand against the mattress as he reached. It stimulated a low sound of approval, his mind gracing him with the thought of grinding his hips down against another body. They’d be on their stomach, like him. Nosing at his pillow as he ground the ridge of his cock against the round line of their ass. 

Light moans, below him. The sound of the lube cap flipping open. He withdrew his hand enough to set the lube down, hook his thumbs into his waistband and drag down his sweats. It had been a while since he’d done this. There was no hurry. The press of expensive silk and cotton against his cock was good. The touches infuriatingly light. He moved enough to drizzle lube over his fingers, letting it run down his palm as he ground his hips. 

In his mind, a body twisted, begged him not to be so leisurely. Hips thrust backwards, impatient against his own. Encouraging him to sink into a tight, hot heat. He obliged, letting out a breathless, deep whine as he wrapped a hand around himself, slick with lube he hadn’t quite let heat up. He gave a rather forceful tug, whimpering as he buried his face down, into a pillow that formed the space between two shoulders. 

He thought about it, about pressing his cock slowly into the forgiving flesh. How it would welcome him, squeezing around him as it drew him in. Hot, slick heat. He matched his movements to his mind, thrusting his hips into his hand as the thought-body whimpered, pushing back against him. Whilst he wasn’t endowed like a horse, Tony knew he packed a considerate genetic gift. 

He ploughed into his own hand, teeth biting into his pillow as he gripped it with a fist, panting wetly against the fabric. In his mind, his teeth sunk into a lithe shoulder, mottling the pale skin with red marks of his teeth. His hands fisted, twisting and tugging harshly on locks of dark brown. 

Dark brown? 

A vivid face flashed through his mind, high cheekbones and dark, sparkling eyes. Pale skin mottled with the odd freckle, neck bending as the hand in his hair dragged his head backwards. 

Tony jerked so violently he squeezing down on himself, the horror mixing with the pleasure as his hips stuttered, the cum splattering over his fingers and onto his sheets as he yelped. 

_Peter. _

The guilt overcame him so much that he didn’t sleep, instead gathering an armful of food and water-bottles and retreating down to floor 12, where he did most of his Iron Man work. Surprisingly, Peter hadn’t asked to so much as see any of it, yet. Then again, they rarely spoke unless it was Peter bitching at him for asking questions. 

JARVIS alerted him when Peter had awoken, but the thought of talking to the boy made Tony’s skin crawl and his gut twist in a way that he didn’t trust, so he simply turned his music up louder. It was some lost time later before his phone buzzed 

**How would I order stuff to here? -AnnoyingChild**

He blinked at it, frowning. Order stuff? Like takeout? Amazon? 

**Generally, the website has this whole page where you fill in the things? -RichGenius**

**Ha, ha. You know what I mean, jerk. It’s the Tower. Do I need to send it to a post box somewhere? -AnnoyingChild** **   
**

**If it’s addressed to Stark Tower, JARVIS can scan whoever they send and let them through to the foyer. They can leave the parcels there. -RichGenius**

**But he won’t scan the boxes, right? And you won’t snoop? -AnnoyingChild**

**Why would I snoop? Are you ordering drugs? Mail-A-Gram? -RichGenius**

**None of your business? But you won’t go looking through my stuff, right? -AnnoyingChild**

**Not interested, kiddo. Order your coke and bongs. -RichGenius**

His phone buzzed with another angry response, but he left it, focusing on flexing his fingers. The Gauntlet moved smoothly. Flexed in time to his movements, wasn’t as stiff as it had been. Curiosity ate at him, however, and eventually he sat back, waved his metal-clad hand. 

“Hey, J? Pull up Parker’s order. I’m curious”. He was thankful that there was no judgement in JARVIS’ voice, just a confirmation and Peter’s laptop screen flashing onto his own. It was in fact an Amazon cart. 

Stuffed full of dildos. 

“Fucking- _Off!_” He shrieked, swiping away the image scathingly. No wonder the little shit hadn’t wanted him to go nosing. Didn’t the kid have enough? Tony had felt at least one. For a sixteen year old, one should be enough. Right? By normal standards? He wasn’t sure, honestly. One young act of rebellion had been to spend $400 on Howard’s card on toys, so. 

He stayed until a lack of snacks lured him back up, and he felt rather ridiculous asking JARVIS to make sure Peter was in his room before he stepped out of the elevator, creeping across his own damn floor to raid the cupboards. Since Peter was a child, of sorts, Pepper had filled several spaces with a generous variety of candy, and Tony was not above reaping the benefits of adopting a child. 

They had a press statement, tomorrow. Just a brief announcement that his temporary generosity was now permanent. He thought about their whole situation as he rummaged, pulling down the odd box or packet to take with him. “Get me some balla sticks” came from besides him and he jerked, whipping around and levelling his hand at Peter’s face. For his part, the kid looked half confused and half annoyed, gaze flicking from his palm to his face. 

Tony dropped his arm, aware that he was still wearing the Gauntlet, and flicked the cupboard shut. The kid wanted to act like a brat? He could get his own candy. “We used manners in his household” he sniffed, turning away from the kid and perusing his haul. Peter came up close, as he usually did. And wasn’t that interesting? That the kid had zero concept of personal space. 

More so, when Peter curled slender fingers around his bicep and leaned across, resting against his side as he stole a packet of cookies. Tony snatched them back, scowling. _His _cookies. Peter arched a brow, letting go of his arm and leaning backwards slightly. “Manners” Tony reminded him, curling his arms around his bundle. 

Peter leaned in again, making the hairs on Tony’s arms prickle. “Maybe you should teach me some” the boy muttered, low and sweet. If Tony hadn’t been acutely aware of his desire for munchies, he would have missed the crinkle of the packet Peter closed his hand around, and his own shot out, bare fingers curling over Peter’s wrist, tight. 

Peter froze, eyes wide and pupils blowing as he stood stock still, staring at the place where Tony gripped. Firm, not enough to hurt or bruise. Peter’s lips parted with a soft breath and Tony twitched, letting go. He knew_ that l_ook. Peter seemed to blink himself into reality, gaze flickering almost sheepishly up to Tony’s face. Tony’s mind flashed to the hours before, his hands, Peter’s cart, and he scooped up his candy, huffing. 

Like a grown ass adult who makes his own choices, he locked himself back in his lab and passed out somewhere around 6am. He awoke to JARVIS prompting him, managed to drag himself into a suit and was snatching an apple from the fruit bowl, struggling to do up his tie one-handed when Peter coughed lightly from besides him. “You look like shit” he remarked, advancing. Tony bit into his apple with more force than he needed to, ready to snap back when Peter came closer, reaching out. 

“Your hair is messy and your tie is sloppy. If you’re gonna be my- If you’re going to be announcing you’re responsible for me, you need to look better than_ that_” Peter added, voice stumbling over itself as he grasped Tony’s tie, dexterous fingers re-doing the mess he’d made of it. He sucked in a breath, not even daring to chew his apple as Peter fiddled, before he was grasping the knot and the end tail, sliding it up slowly. He swallowed his mouthful whole then, feeling how Peter tested the tightness before he dropped his hands, blinking up at Tony. 

“Fix your hair” he commanded, turning away but not really _moving_ away as he ducked down for the cereal. Tony blinked, but obliged, setting down his apple to catch his reflection on the polished tile wall, smoothing his hair into something akin to styled. Besides him, Peter glanced, eyes widening slightly, as though he hadn’t expected Tony to do it. Tony told himself he did it because if he didn’t, Pepper would do it. Less…Nicely. 

“Say nice things about me” Peter called as Tony moved away, hurrying for the elevator before Pepper took it upon herself to come up and collect him. She had this startling ability to tell when his 53-hours-without-sleep look was from emotions, and when it was from simply getting distracted. She would know his stint was nothing to do with nightmares or the like, and she would treat him as such. 

Peter didn’t look at him as the doors closed, but he _was_ waiting when Tony got back. He’d evidently been watching the statement, the TV on and already playing the remainder of the news. Tony raised a brow, loosening his tie as he beelined for the kitchen. There wasn’t enough coffee in the world. The announcement had gone remarkably well, frankly. He announced the official adoption of Peter and the press ate it up. Pepper had called it quits after 15 minutes of questioning. 

“Did I meet your standards?” He asked, setting the coffee maker to double espresso. Behind him, from the couch, Peter grunted. 

“It was nothing major. You hardly sang my praises” he responded, shrugging. Tony could feel the prickles running down his spine. Statements always pent him up. Always gave him a headache. In fact, so did most social interactions. 

“Stop being such an ass- Stop being so _stroppy_ and I’ll be sure to sing them next time” he muttered in response, pouring his coffee. He didn’t really have the patience for this, not today. He was running on bare, dying fumes and his hands shook when he poured the liquid. He kept his sunglasses on, shying away from the lights. He was going to drink his coffee, shower, and pass out for the next 24 hours. 

“Rude” Peter remarked, having somehow moved from the couch in the midst of Tony’s mind chatting away to itself. He approached, reaching out and gently taking hold of Tony’s wrist, pulling it away from his mug. He made a grumpy sound, fingers closing around air as he looked across at Peter, perplexed. “Bed. You. Now” the boy announced, tugging his arm, his touch still light. It would take nothing for Tony to pull away. 

“I have things to do” he protested, reaching for his mug again. Peter pulled more firmly this time, tugging him sideways a step. 

“No. You don’t. You are going to go to bed. And when you wake up, you are going to shower” Peter replied, turning, but keeping his grip. He pulled Tony, who resisted petulantly for a moment, before following. It occurred to him then, that Peter had never been to his room. It also reminded him of his fantasising, and he made another grumpy sound, but followed along. Peter actually stopped outside his door, letting go and folding his arms. 

Tony waited. It took exactly fourteen seconds for Peter to roll his eyes, turning his body away from the door and motioning. “JARVIS?”. 

JARVIS, the traitor, slid the door open without remark. Peter smirked, head tilting at Tony. “There. Your internet bestie agrees with me. Now get to bed and actually sleep” the boy argued again, his tone firm. And Tony…Tony was _Tony fucking Stark._ He was a billionaire. Iron Man. The_ adult_. He owned this Tower. He could tell Peter to fuck off. Could send him to his room. Could roll his eyes, walk away and lock himself in a lab. 

But what did he actually do? He wilted, like a picked flower. Dropped his head and grumbled but moved past Peter, who kept his back to the open door. It was the most respect he had shown since they met. He moved to his bedside, took off his watch and his tie. It was then he realised Peter was still there, back to the door, which was still open. “What are you, a Sentinel?” He asked, tossing aside his belt. 

“No. I’m gonna stand here until you’re in bed. Then I’m gonna go” Peter shot back, whole body twitching like he wanted to turn around. But he didn’t, he leaned back against the wall near the door, head ducked a little as he waited. Tony scoffed, but Peter did not appear to be lying, even as Tony stripped to his bare boxers and went to his walk in. The boy didn’t turn, either. 

Comfortable shirt on, he sank into his bedding (fresh from his…_Escapades_) and folded his hands on his chest, raising an eyebrow. After a moment, JARVIS piped up. 

_ **Sir has fulfilled your demands, Mr. Parker. ** _

What a way to phrase things. But Peter simply nodded, moving away, and the door slid shut behind his retreating form. Tony squinted at it for a little longer, before he huffed and rolled over, tugging his pillow to his chest. “J, same as usual. Lights, Rainy Day” he mumbled, burrowing into his bedding. He only slightly mourned his coffee. 

He slept a good 12 hours, woke up groggily sometime in the early night. Fixed himself enough food to feed a horse and walked slowly past Peter’s door. The shower was running and Tony recognised one of his playlists making it’s rounds. He worked until around 1 am, retiring to bed shortly after to try and get his internal clock ticking on the right scale again. JARVIS had politely reminded him of a board meeting, and Tony had no desire to be both bored to death and mind-numbingly tired. 

Peter wasn’t around when he left his room, fixing himself a smoothie and taking the elevator down. In the foyer, however, there was a considerable mountain of Amazon boxes and Tony jerked, snorting his smoothie rather unattractively. 

He edged out of the elevator, sticking to the wall as though the boxes were a rabid, caged animal. He wiped at his burning nose, keeping his head ducked and his gaze down as he inched towards the door, where Happy was waiting for him. “Shopping spree, boss?” The man asked, already opening the door for him. Tony coughed again, shaking his head. 

“Not mine, Hogan. Kid was bored” he responded, sinking into the leather and closing his eyes. He knew what was in those boxes. Knew the smaller ones likely contained the plugs and the lube. That the longer, thinner ones were undoubtedly the dildos. He twitched in his seat, rather pale. 

The board meeting was_ supposed_ to be about the latest military contract. Tony hadn’t agreed to relinquish any Iron Man tech to the Government nor it’s Military, but he had agreed to help them advance their own products. Instead it was a flurry of talk about his statement, about Peter. How was the kid doing? Was it strange? Did he still get laid now he was a father? Did girls find it more attractive, or less? 

He had a headache by the time he returned, slumping against the elevator wall. The only small mercy (if he could consider it one) was that Peter had collected his parcels. Except that meant that they were now in Peter’s room. Probably in Peter. He gripped the rail, knuckles white. It was like now he’d thought about it once, his mind was unable to lock the door, the thoughts invading his mind on a near constant basis. It was a terrible affliction of the mind. The inability to stop thoughts. 

The elevator opened and Tony practically whimpered at the sight of his coffee machine, stepping out of the elevator and halfway across the room before he stopped, head cocking. It was faint, but there, like white noise, there was a quiet, discreet buzzing. Or, it would have been discreet. If not for the panting that accompanied it. Immediately his legs felt wobbly, as though he were a newborn colt. 

Peter’s room was opposite the kitchen. Tony risked a glance over his shoulder, caught an open door and the faint shape of Peter on his bed and he bolted for the kitchen, flinging open a cupboard obnoxiously both to act as a barrier and to alert Peter of his presence. No sounds changed, Peter panting steadily, the odd moan breaking the litany. He ought to cough. Maybe bang a mug on the counter or something. 

He really, _really_ shouldn’t look. 

Really. 

_Shouldn’t. _

He shifted, glanced. Peter was on his hands and knees on his bed, face buried in the sheets and turned towards the wall. His hair was fluffed, as though he’d been tugging it. His ass was high in the air, his spine arched to the point Tony was sure it wasn’t comfortable. He was reaching backwards, holding steady what looked to be a slender vibrator. 

Tony twisted, forehead bouncing off the open cupboard door as he jerked away, snatched up an orange and fled to his room. He felt dirty. Like some kind of back-alley pervert. The fact he was almost half-hard did nothing to ease his mind as he kicked aside his sheets, collapsing against his bed. He ought to think of something disgusting. Maybe have JARVIS pull up some surgery videos. 

But Tony was a weak man when it came to indulging himself. He threw aside his panic fruit, pressing the heel of his palm harshly against his firming cock and grinding up against it, pressing his head back against the pillow. “Fuck. Fucking _kid_. M’gonna die” he muttered, squeezing his eyes shut as he thrust against his palm, teeth grinding. It was messy, rough. He came with sparks behind his eyes and slunk off to the shower, leaning heavily against the wall with dead eyes as he contemplated his actions. 

Hell, he thought numbly. He belonged in Hell. 

Except…The anger, the betrayal, the disgust. It never came. Not from Peter, at least. And there was no way the boy didn’t know he had seen him. Tony waited until darkness to slip from his room, avoiding food (though his stomach protested) and locking himself down in Lab 2. Aside from that day, Peter had not come down here, and Tony presumed he was safe. 

Until his music dimmed, somewhere after sunrise and he looked up, nearly stabbing himself in the arm with the screwdriver. Peter was walking down the steps, a plate in one hand and a mug in the other. For a brief moment, Tony thought Peter was bringing him food. Then he remembered what Peter actually was (_Hellspawn_) and relented to the fact he was likely here to call Tony a pervert and demand half the company in compensation. 

Except Peter set the plate and mug down, peering curiously at the thigh guard he was dismantling, offered a small smile, and left. Tony dropped the plate he was holding, cursed as it landed on his foot. The coffee was as black as coal, as he liked it. The plate held a stir fry, meaty and seasoned nicely. 

“J. Am I still sleeping?” He asked, taking the fork and poking cautiously at it. Perhaps Peter intended to poison him? 

** _You are fully conscious, Sir. All vital signs and brain functions are as per. _ **

“Is it poisoned? Spat on? Is it made with worms?” He continued, twirling a section of noodle on the fork. 

** _I would alert you if it was, Sir. _ **

“Thanks” he responded drily, reaching for the coffee instead. 

The day got weirder from there. Peter asked about the meeting, cleaned his room, even offered to cook dinner later in the evening. Tony had walked smack into the coffee table at that, howling as the pain radiated down his calf. Peter had fetched him an ice pack and hadn’t even made a brutal remark. 

It made Tony suspicious, his mind throwing together various calculations. Peter was acting nice. Was more tactile. Hadn’t even told Tony to fuck off yet. 

Huh. 

It lasted roughly two days. Tony knew this because on the second morning he and Peter collided in the kitchen, Peter’s glass of milk spilling down Tony’s silk, maroon shirt. 

Peter promptly told him to fuck himself, slammed the glass down, and stomped off to his room. 

_Huh_. 


	3. Chapter 3

By the time the mark of four months comes around, Tony is seething. A helpless wreck of rage and sexual tension with no end in sight. After Peter’s…_Delivery_, something akin to a pattern begun. The boy would lock himself in his room for up to several hours, and the following 24-48 from when he finally ventured out would be rather pleasant. 

Peter would engage in conversation, wouldn’t snap or throw an insult. Would be relatively well behaved, if they were required to go out and about. It was a breathing space amongst the general hostility of their relationship, and Tony found himself actually wishing on the regular that the boy would go sit on a dildo. 

Such as, today. 

The public had taken the announcement particularly well. And by particularly, that meant that America suddenly _blew up_ with the news. Tony Stark adopting the child of his late best friend was the sensational celebrity news of the decade. Every news outlet wanted an interview, every magazine and newspaper published a story. 

The drama of it had somewhat fizzled, but plenty of people were still interested, still talking about how Tony Stark was now officially _Daddy territory_ and how absolutely adorable his adopted son was. Peter was often described as rather doe-ish, all long limbs and soft curls and a pretty, sweet smile for the cameras. 

Tony wanted to throttle every editor that allowed that. He wanted to leap onto the press tables like a madman and scream about what a fucking _hellion_ the little shit actually was. He wanted to hack every news outlet and publish JARVIS’ feeds of the boy throwing a fit over Tony buying almond milk instead of hazelnut and telling him to _sit on something sharp, asshole_. 

Tony might actually be getting greys. _Greys_. At thirty-something. 

He’d have to make a note at some point to remind himself of how old he actually was.

Such as it were, today was one such still interested news outlet taking up his time to coo over how sweet Peter was and what an adorable and stylish family they made. It was a brief interview, no longer than ten minutes, and Tony had been desperately keeping an eye on Peter to see if the boy did any…_Stress relief _before the event. 

Tony must’ve pissed off every God in existence at some point, because Peter actually stayed up the entire night on a video call to one of his little friends. JARVIS politely alerted him of it when he groaned awake to his alarm, and Tony scowled, rubbing at his eyes. _Brilliant_. 

If Peter was awful on the regular, sleep-deprived Peter was a fucking _nightmare_. A snappy, disinterested, loathsome nightmare. He had warned the boy they had an early start, and to go to sleep at a reasonable time, and he had no doubt that Peter had stayed up purely out of spite. 

“Wake him up, J. He’s got thirty minutes to be showered and dressed” Tony sighed, swinging his legs over the bed and stretching briefly, before he headed for the bathroom. JARVIS begun his usual shower preference as he relieved his bladder, and the water was warm and firm on his shoulders. He lathered his body with the chocolate and strawberry scented wash, relishing in the sleepy-loose sensation of the morning. 

He dragged his fingers between the dip of his asscheeks slowly, before bringing them over his hips, brushing at the crease of his thighs thoughtfully. He had thirty minutes, and it wasn’t as though he had to style his hair and do his own makeup. The news channel - _Celebrity Insight_ \- preferred to preen their guests themselves. 

He considered it for a moment longer, before he drew his hands away. He soaped his hair as he let the water slough away the suds, rising the shampoo before applying a generous glob of conditioner to his hair. When it was worked in and settling, he let his palms slide down his stomach, feeling out the ridges of muscles there. He was no beer belly, for sure. Although he didn’t quite compete with Roger’s hand-crafted abs of righteousness. 

The first brush against his cock was almost a surprise, hips jumping from the touch, but he slid his fingers around the firm flesh, stroking a slick thumb along the smooth curve of the tip with a deep sigh. He let his mind wander, lazily drifting into thoughts of someone else doing this for him as he gave himself a slow, firm stroke. 

Nameless, faceless hands became delicate and small. Dexterous, long fingers replaced his own, the nails trim and neat and clean. He went with it, leaning back against the heated tiles, head tipping to the mist of the shower as he squeezed the base before loosening his grip, trailing it teasingly upwards. 

_That’s it, Daddy. _

_Cum for me, Daddy. _

The faux voice was sweet, high. Breathy with lust. Tony groaned in response, shifting his hips to nudge them into his tightening grip. setting a pumping pace.He fucked himself slowly, thumb digging into the sensitive skin between the base and his balls, dipping lazily into the slit. The pleasure pooled low and warm in his hips, snug between his hips as he fell into the languid fantasy. 

As it built, he stroked himself quicker, breathing ticking up as he imagined the boy pumping him. He paused at that, before rolling with it. Yeah, his imaginary partner could be a boy. He thought about a trim, lithe body. About milky, smooth thighs. As he sped up, fucking into his fist and panting against the tiles he imagined a little pink tongue, waiting for his cum. Imagined soft, brown curls flattened by the water. 

The sudden realisation of whom he was imagining hit him with force, startling an orgasm that had him curling against the wall, gasping for breath. _Peter_. He had been imagining Peter. He was horrified even as his cum painted creamy lines across the tiles, quickly washed away by the thrumming water. Peter had been a frequent, guilty invader within his fantasies. 

Although, the kid had blue-balled him for the past four months. Only twice Tony had attempted to bring someone back to the Tower, and both times the kid had thrown an ungodly fit. The first time, he’d actually stayed up, sitting on the penthouse couch and looking expectantly at the elevator, like a parent who’d caught their kid trying to sneak back home after sneaking out in the first place. 

_Its gross, Tony. You’re old and our rooms are close and I don’t wanna hear you dipping into sloppy, gold-digging pussy! _

Tony had spat and seethed about the fact that every room had sound proofing, before promptly putting the kid on a time-out, cutting all his tech. That had been a rough two weeks, until Peter had seemingly given himself some personal time whilst Tony was at a meeting, and the spat had been forgotten about. 

He rinsed himself off, bitter about the fact the only thing he was cumming in was his shower, before he stepped out, drying himself quickly. He couldn’t hear anything outside of his room, but it was likely the kid was up and showering also. It took Tony fifteen minutes to slip into his suit, knotting his tie neatly and selecting a pair of polished gold cufflinks. 

There hadn’t been any repeats of the night that Peter went out. He had stayed over Ned’s house several times in the past few months, but each time he had left in a hoodie or shirt and soft, old jeans, nothing akin to the…Well. The _slutty_ get up he’d escaped with before. Tony had his suspicions, but he couldn’t exactly confront the kid about them. 

A brief smooth-over of his hair, and Tony stepped out into the penthouse’s main area, heading for the kitchen. He was just lifting his coffee for the first sip when Peter’s door opened, and the scowling brat came stomping out. A light dusting of purple decorated underneath his eyes, and his hair was messy, half-dried. His tie was loose around his neck and it wasn’t the one Tony had laid out for him. 

Neither were the shoes. 

“Perhaps you should learn to listen to your elders” Tony quipped as the boy reached into the fridge for a smoothie. Peter leaned backwards, glaring at him from around the fridge door. 

“At least you’re admitting you’re old” the brat snapped, slamming the fridge shut as he uncapped the berry monstrosity. Tony rolled his eyes, but was in no mood for a fight today. There was a lot that he had to take care of. _Iron Man_ had officially been ‘on vacation’ for Peter’s transfer to his care, off-call for anything that wasn’t a world-ending catastrophe. Now confident the boy was settled, Tony needed to meet with Fury to reinstate Iron Man as active. 

Peter had yet to meet any of the Avengers, although Tony himself had met up for various brunches and coffees during the time Peter had been settling in. Steve was highly amused that Tony was not only technically the eldest Avenger, but also the first to have a child, and had teased him mercilessly about it. Clint was away in Sokovia, a general intel ops, but had video-called twice in the time to mock him for being a ‘total Daddy type’ and for finally having a child that didn’t operate on code. 

Natasha had raised the topic once, before continuing to keep him updated on SHIELD’s latest ins and outs. She wasn’t overly interested in children, and Tony was grateful for the opportunity to speak about something other than the fact he was now a parent. 

Peter hadn’t asked to meet them, and Tony hadn’t offered. 

“Happy will pick us up in ten minutes, Fix your appearance, I’m not being seen with a slob” he remarked, turning away before Peter could throw something back at him. It was surprisingly refreshing, and he was still smirking when he took the elevator down, nodding to his notoriously grumpy driver. 

“Don’t tell me you forgot the kid” Happy frowned, glancing around. Tony shot him the finger, slipping into the back seat of the Rolls. 

“Nope. He’s just tardy. We’re working on it” he responded, occupying the time by fiddling with his phone. Peter wasn’t actually all that far behind him, giving Tony time enough to answer four emails before he was slipping into the seat opposite. He had cleaned up a little, cuffs and tie done and shirt tucked in. Tony gave Happy the go, and forty minutes later they were being ushered into chairs within the makeup room. 

The routine was typical for Tony - A mattifying concealer and a brief coat of clear mascara. A touch to his brows, and a little pencil on the edges of his already sharply styled facial hair. It was nothing akin to the ridiculous makeup most modelling and photoshoot artists gave him, and it allowed him a short while to relax, scrolling through his official social media accounts as they worked. 

The call to screen came, and Tony rose, buttoning his jacket as he turned. He almost tipped right over, catching sight of Peter. They had touched up his eyes, taking away the slight sleepless bruising. His brows had been painstakingly styled, and his lashes looked a mile long with the same clear coating. His face had been slightly contoured, and they’d actually applied a very mild tint to his lips. 

The only fair word to describe it would be _pretty_. 

Tony cleared his throat, resisted the urge to touch his face, and strode towards the gaudy set. The presenter, an overly faux-cheerful woman named Lauren, greeted him with a reverent handshake, her eyes bright and shark-like. “Mr. Stark! It is _such _a pleasure to have you here. I cannot _wait _for the interview, really” she gushed, and he endured it with a polite smile and brief response, picking a spot and spreading himself over it like he owned the place. 

He’d looked up the company’s net worth. He could, if he wanted to. 

Peter settled a respectable arm’s length away, delicately folding one leg over the other and reclining back, a picture of relaxed innocence. Tony wanted to push him over. It was a very close thing. The only thing that stopped him was the thought of having to face Pepper’s outrage over defending him for assaulting a minor live on TV. 

He sat patiently as the crew did their final checks and fussing, setting up the cameras and the cue sheets and finalising the gist of the interview. Peter managed to maintain a somewhere serene expression, although it was clear the boy was low on patience. His eyes were droopy and every now and then his brows would pull together. 

“On in five…Four…Three…Two…One…”

“Goo-ood morning, New York! Its your favourite gossip and interview channel for all the _hottest _celebs here, coming to you live with none other than America’s most darling family, the Starks!”

Tony itched to correct her, and Peter’s face twisted momentarily, as though he’d bitten into a lemon. Adopted though he was, Peter remained a Parker, not a Stark. The contract had never specified about his name, but Tony had been loathe to remove the boy even more from his parents, and had dismissed the notion of changing his name when the lawyers brought it up. 

“Clearly, I am the hot celeb in this scenario” Tony quipped smoothly, flashing the camera a cheeky grin as he adjusted his seat. Lauren laughed, a shrill and emphasised thing as he relaxed back into her own seat, fixing them with that _down to business_ look that Tony loathed on anyone. 

“All jokes aside, its clear that in a very short amount of time, you’ve become America’s most followed family. ‘Stark Legacy Grows’ was the leading headline for a week solid after the public announcement of you so generously taking on Richard Parker’s son” she continued, gaze flicking between them. 

“I hardly _took him on._ He wasn’t a project. I made an agreement with Richard many years ago that I would look after Peter in the event that Richard and Mary were unable to. Its just unfortunate that I ended up having to fulfil that promise. The Parkers were a good people” Tony cut in quickly, unwilling to listen to more of that pointed garbage. 

Peter wasn’t a stray, and Tony wasn’t some billionaire flaunting his latest donation. At his side, Peter cleared his throat lightly, shifting. Lauren merely smiled, nodding along as though he’d told her the secret to immortality. 

“Of course! So, Mr. Stark. How do you feel about conquering yet another public image? The Stark family is now considered America’s favourite. You’ve even trumped the Kardashians”. It’s with the draw-back to ‘America’s sweethearts’ that Tony realised this was how the interview was going to play out. Peddling them as some perfect, status quo family. 

“I’m sure when Tony has his own kid, that’ll be the case” Peter interrupted blandly, although there was a demure smile on those stupid, kissable lips. Tony forced himself to grin, reaching over to ruffle Peter’s perfectly styled hair. 

“At least you’re giving me experience for when that kid becomes a terrible teen” he joked, although there was bite within his eyes when Peter met his gaze. Fully aware that the air was now charged with tension, Tony lounged back, crossing his legs and making an airy gesture. 

“So you fully intend to have your own children then, Mr. Stark? Do you have a lucky lady in mind already? There have been several rumours that your whirlwind romance with Pepper Potts is back on the table” Lauren pounced, leaning forwards. Tony kept his graceful composure, but he wanted to roll his eyes like Peter did besides him. 

Tony was a generous lover. He enjoyed both the male and female forms, and he wasn’t overly picky about who his romances were with - Although he did have a typical preference for men in the long-term. Back in his earlier days as CEO, he and Pepper had begun something of an on-off romance that spanned roughly four years, before they both grew up and admitted their amazing chemistry was limited to a close, respectful friendship. 

“The closest thing Tony has had to a romance lately is Dum-E stabbing him in the asscheek with a screwdriver last Monday” Peter responded breezily, shooting Tony a smirk. 

_And who’s fault is that, you little blue-balling bastard?_

“Mm, yes. The least sexiest kind of ass-play” Tony quipped back, shrugging easily. It succeeded in breaking the live-wire atmosphere as Lauren and several of the crew laughed, and talk turned briefly to the robots before skipping onto Stark Industries. 

“And how are you finding it, becoming a parent whilst also maintaining your status as CEO of your own company, Mr. Stark? Do you have any plans to bring Peter into the company?” Lauren asked, shuffling her cue cards and looking between them. 

“If I read the morning news correctly, Stark Industries is celebrating it’s thirteenth consecutive title as most profitable company based in America, and most profitable technology company globally” Tony remarked, looking faux thoughtful. “I’m not overly concerned with SI taking a plummet at the moment. My main dedications are helping Peter to grow and making sure the world doesn’t succumb to morons in gaudy supervillain suits”. 

He took a pause, though not long enough for Lauren to open her painted mouth. 

“As for Peter coming into the SI fold, that is _entirely _up to him. I’ve made it clear that he is welcome to get involved with the company in any way he wishes - a job, an internship, and so forth. But Peter _is _the sole heir to his own company, Parker Developmental, which is currently operating under a trusted group of professionals chosen by Richard. He has his own legacy to carry, and I’m just here to support him and his choices”. 

Peter was shifting, looking down uncomfortably at his lap. They had conversed briefly about it, during one of Peter’s orgasm induced soft spells. Tony had mentioned Peter was welcome to come along and get involved, and that whenever the time came for him to inherit the company, Tony would ensure it all went smoothly. But talk about Richard and the Parker company always made the boy clam up. 

“And Peter, how do you feel about all of that? Any plans for dipping into the Stark legacy?” Lauren asked, directing her attention to Peter, who looked up with a blatant scowl that smoothed over a second too late. 

“I’m sixteen. I think I’d like to live a little before I end up chained to a desk” he responded, aiming for joking, but falling rather flat. 

“Ah, yes. The joys of youth. Sneaking out, maths exams and puberty” Tony sighed with faux longing, breaking the tension once more. Lauren shifted, glancing at the clock. Her time was running out, and she had yet to extract any shocking or juicy gossip from them. Tony felt rather smug.

_‘Take that, Peps’_ he thought. An interview that didn’t leave a PR explosion in its wake. He ought to receive an award. 

“Are you insinuating Peter is a naughty child, Mr. Stark?” She joked, although her eyes had that sharp glint to them again. Tony scoffed, head shaking. 

“Please. Of all of my kids, Peter is by far the best behaved” he lied through his teeth, shooting the boy what he hoped came across as a fond look. Peter was actually the worst. Tony would take Dum-E and his fucked coding over Peter and his attitude any day. Four stitches in his right asscheek or not. 

“So you already consider Peter as your child?” She asked hurriedly, going straight in for what was usually a _don’t ask_ topic. Peter almost went rigid under Tony’s observation, gaze fixing somewhere off on the far wall as Tony slowly turned to look back at Lauren. 

“I made a promise to a friend, to take care of Peter. I knew what it would mean when I signed it, and I spent every day from then on prepared to keep that promise. Peter is under my care not only as my God Son, but as a person. I would hope that Peter can trust me, and considers me at the least, a friend. My only goal within this is to ensure he remains safe, cared for, and can grow to be a person that Richard and Mary would be proud of”. 

He shifted, rising slowly.. They still had a few minutes, but he gestured to Peter, who was staring at him like he’d gone yellow. Lauren looked a little lost for words, helplessly glancing off-camera for assistance. Peter rose to his feet also, smoothing down his shirt as Tony adjusted his tie and shot a grin at the camera. 

“On that note. I do believe I promised him gelato after this, so I’m afraid we have to scoot. I rented the place out, and I’d hate to keep them waiting” he remarked, clasping Lauren’s hand in thanks before ushering Peter off the set and towards where Happy and security waited for them. Lauren was hastily trying to say her goodbyes to the camera, but wasn’t quite quick enough. 

“Well, that was awful. Put them on the shit list” Tony announced as they made their quick getaway down the stairwell, reaching up to tousle his hair out of that awful gelled sweep. Peter bounded along besides him, head down and quiet as they made their way out into the parking lot. 

“She had lipstick on her teeth. Did anyone notice that?” He added, sliding into the backseat. One of the security guards was smirking as he shut the door, and Peter was sliding onto the soft leather next to him a moment later, tucking up against the door once it was closed. Happy was starting the car a moment later, breezing out onto the main street and past the small gaggle of paparazzi that had gathered. 

“Who’s idea was it?” Peter asked, halfway back to the Tower. He wasn’t looking at Tony, but was gazing out of the window at the passing scenery, still rather tucked up. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what he was asking, and Tony thought about it for a moment, before shrugging. 

“It was a mutual idea, I suppose. It was coming up to the anniversary of my parents’ death, and I suppose I was lamenting the fact that I was left alone the moment they were gone. In the eyes of the Government I was old enough to look after myself, and the only other people interested in me wanted a chance to leech into the company. I told Richard not to slack off on his duties as a parent, and to make sure you had people. It spun to talk about what would happen to you, if he and Mary couldn’t look after you any longer”. 

Tony trailed off, thinking about that night. Steaming and almost begging his friend not to become a Howard. Not to leave Peter to become a Tony. Richard had looked at him for the longest of times, thoughtful and sad. 

“He asked. I said yes. He spoke to Mary about it when he wasn’t twelve shots in, and I signed the contract the next time I went over his. You were still a baby, then. A little cross-eyed and a little fat, but you were kind of cute, I guess”. 

Peter made a strange sound in response, but that was the entirety of their conversation. Happy left them at the foyer, and the elevator ride was silent but for once; not uncomfortable. It was clear that the interview had given Peter a lot to think about, and Tony wasn’t so much of an idiot as to try and invade. 

He was roughly eighteen steps into the penthouse and throwing his jacket towards the couch when JARVIS spoke up. 

“_Sir. You have an incoming call from Clint Barton. It is of the utmost urgency_”. JARVIS sounded apologetic, as though he knew what it meant. Tony sighed, reaching up to un-do his tie. 

“Put him through, J. And how many times do I have to tell you, it’s _Legolas_”. 

JARVIS didn’t respond, instead patching the call through. What filled the room was the unmistakable sound of battle, and Tony wanted to throw himself at the nearest window. Peter had stopped on the way to his room, and was staring at Tony with an unreadable expression. 

“Tony! Hey, man. Long time no hang. Fuck, wait -” Clint broke off as a round of gunfire drowned out his voice, limiting it to frantic muttering and the loud _thwick _of an arrow in the background. “Okay! So I know you’re total _DILF _material right now and temporarily out of action, but man, we could really use some Iron right now”. 

More gunfire. A rather un-manly shriek. The unmistakable sound of Cap’s shield sailing past like the world’s deadliest frisbee. Tony sighed, threw his tie off in the vague direction of his jacket, and turned to Peter with a helpless look. 

“Look’s like my retirement is up, kid. I’ll get J to order you a pizza or something, and I’ll see if Pep or Happy can swing ‘round and keep you company. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, and _definitely _don’t do anything I _would _do” he announced apologetically, already turning tail for the balcony. 

“Wait, the mini-you is there? Sup, Parker! _Fuck, watch the jewels, asshole!_ Hey, so I totally think we should-” 

“J, cut it” Tony called out frantically as he jogged for the balcony, already reaching up to tap at the reactor to call the armour. “Send me to coordinates and let me know what I’m in for. Also, remind me not to die. If Pep ends up becoming a Mom, she’ll ouija me and I’ll never hear the end of it”. 

It was actually dark by the time Tony managed to extract himself from SHIELD’s headquarters, exhausted and a little more battered than he cared to admit. Apparently some shmuck had been experimenting with reviving the alien corpses from the original 2012 Avengers’ battle, and had not only succeeded in such a task, but had also managed to clone several dozen more. 

Retirement was boring, but Tony wished the Earth had chosen a gentler way of getting him back into it. His thighs burned, his spine ached and he had to look at his arms to confirm he actually still had them. 

“J, news on the kid?” He mumbled, stepping out onto the street and activating the thrusters, lifting up into the air. It was quicker than waiting for Happy, and Tony wanted nothing more than an immediate bath, hot food, and bed.

“Mr. Parker is well, Sir. At 4:32pm he ordered a meal from Wai Chang, and at 6:48pm he retired to his room”. 

That wasn’t so bad. Especially if Peter had been…Well. Relaxing. It meant Tony could have a peaceful return without getting bitched out for something or another, and he was relatively chilled out when he landed on the balcony, staggering a step or two as he landed before striding towards the doors. 

Where one Peter Parker was waiting, arms folded like a pissed parent. Tony almost threw himself right back off the balcony, but his luxury shower and king bed were calling him, so he flipped the visor up, continuing his approach. 

“Am I in trouble for missing curfew?” He joked, watching as Peter’s expression darkened. The boy stepped aside to allow him in, but was hot on his heels. Tony was hungry enough that he didn’t even deactivate the armour, heading straight for the fridge in te hopes of a snack to tide him over whilst he figured out what to order. 

“You just…You just _left_. One call and you’re off and fighting aliens and I’m just left behind like a forgotten suitcase?” Pete demanded, somehow managing to beat Tony to the fridge, slamming it shut just as Tony pulled it open. He resisted the urge to just maul Peter’s hand like a rabid animal, and instead quirked a brow. 

“That’s kind of what happens, kiddo. It’s not like aliens give you an RSVP card or ask you to mark a date down for their next invasion” he pointed out, voice curt as he tried to open the fridge again. Peter actually moved to bodily block it, arms folding once more. 

“What the fu- Kid. I’ve just saved Earth. _Again_. I deserve a fucking yogurt” he snapped, trying his best to nudge Peter gently aside. The urge to just yeet the fucker right out the window was strong, and Tony forced himself to maintain tight control. He had promised Richard and Mary. 

“What if you died, huh? You just run off straight into actual gunfire and you could’ve died and then what? I get thrown into a foster system and it goes back to shit?” Peter shot back, cheeks a dark pink and eyes blazing. It actually gave Tony a moment for pause. He hadn’t quite thought of that perspective. 

Of course, Peter would have. Would have thought about if Tony decided he couldn’t cope, or if Tony died on the battlefield. The kid had already lost one family. 

“Peter” he begun, but the kid cut him off by shoving him backwards a step with surprising force, reaching up to grab his jaw, thumb digging against a blooming bruise at his cheek. 

“You can’t even fight properly. What good is a metal suit if you still get bruised?” Peter sneered, although his gaze was fixed on the wound with something like regret. Tony hissed at the press, suddenly hyper-aware of how close Peter was, of how much he found he liked it. “You keep acting all big and tough and like you own the world and you can’t even avoid a few measly hits” Peter added, shoving Tony again. 

“Oh, _I’m _acting like I own the world, huh? You little fuck. You stomp around here day in, day out bitching at me over fucking _fruit_. I have to tip-toe around my _own home _because one wrong step and you’er coming at me like a scorned wife! I’ve tried _everything _I can think of to make this just a little bit easier on you, because I know how it feels, and you throw it back in my face unless you’ve sat on a dildo!”. 

Fuck. 

He hadn’t meant to say that. Peter’s eyes snapped open like he’d been shot, the blazing fury within them staggering to wounded surprise. His grip on Tony’s jaw faltered, and for one moment it was both of them comically looking like they’d bitten into chocolate just to find out it was shit. 

Only Peter damn near snarled, thumping his fist against the reactor and de-activated the suit, which folded away hastily like it wanted out of the conversation. It brought Peter falling forwards a step, into the new space, his grip renewing as he glared up at Tony. 

“Just because you can’t get it wet!” Peter snapped back, fist still clenched against Tony’s chest, the grip on his jaw sending pulses of pain across his nerves. And Tony…Tony, in all his pent up rage and sexual frustration, shifted, gripping Peter’s wrist and wrenching it away from his face, pressing forwards and shoving Peter backwards a step in a mimic of Peter’s earlier actions. 

“I can’t ‘get it wet’ because _you don’t fucking let me!_” He snapped back, and realised in that moment they were somehow no longer fighting about the risk of Peter being left alone, but Tony’s lack of sex. It puzzled him enough that he sucked a breath in, rage ebbing. 

Peter was staring at him like he was suddenly seeing the milky way for the first time, lips parted and arm still held out in Tony’s bruising grip. And then Peter was surging forwards, crashing full-body into him and dragging him down by the jaw to press a sloppy, open-mouthed kiss to his lips. It somehow managed to feel like a slap, angry and fierce. 

It took Tony a whole four seconds to catch up with what was happening, and wrenched himself away, letting go of Peter’s wrist and rubbing at his mouth in horror. _Peter had kissed him_. An actual, real kiss. Peter Parker. 

And Tony…Tony _liked _it. 

“What the fuck was that?” He demanded, backing away a step. This was…This was _dangerous_. His heart was hammering, panic seeping through his veins. Peter merely followed him, grasping his shirt to drag him back in. 

“You could’ve been getting it wet for months. Could have bent me over every surface in the penthouse by now” Peter snarked back, eyes narrowed as he dragged Tony down again. Tony let him, lips parting pliantly as Peter attacked his mouth again in a biting, hard kiss. 

And then Tony grabbed him by the arms, pushing him away and holding him at length as he stared at the boy, let the words sink in. The realisation must’ve shown on his face because Peter smirked, shifting to push one of his arms forwards, hand immediately cupping Tony’s crotch, a gentle squeeze that had Tony’s own grip faltering. 

“Could’ve buried that thick cock inside me months ago, Mr. Stark. You were just too pussy to see it. Or maybe you did, you just didn’t have the balls to-” Peter’s words cut off into a wheeze as Tony pushed forwards, several steps until Peter was pressed up against the fridge. Tony let go of him, then, hands bracing against the cold plastic. He had a choice to make. 

Peter allowed him the time to make it, hands firm on his hips, head tipped back. It was the calmest Tony had seen him all day. Or perhaps, calm wasn’t the correct term. Peter looked ready to pounce, lingering only for his benefit. All it took was Peter rolling his bottom lip between his teeth to make the choice. 

He ducked down, catching Peter’s mouth just as the boy opened it on a breath. Peter hadn’t been gentle with his own touches, so Tony returned the favour, wasting no time in snatching his bottom lip with his teeth and biting, before catching Peter’s tongue, stroking alongside it with his own. He could feel Peter’s moan and he let his hands drop, settling at Peter’s hips. 

The boy had worn a baggy, faded shirt and a pair of shorts and Tony pinched the waistband, snapping it against Peter’s side with a loud _thwack_. The boy jolted against his grip with a whimper, and bit at his tongue in retaliation. Tony shifted, drawing back only enough to speak. 

“You’ve got a fucked sense of trying to seduce someone, kid” he muttered against the plush, wetness of Peter’s mouth. He caught his tongue before he could answer back, relishing in the softness of Peter’s mouth, how the boy didn’t even have any stubble yet. He was plush and soft and Tony loved it. 

He slid his hands lower, ducking to wrap them around the backs of Peter’s thighs as he pulled away enough to ensure nobody would accidentally get their tongue bitten off. Peter gave a breathless gasp of surprise as Tony hauled him up, before it trickled off into a moan of appreciation. 

“Fuck, you just-” Peter cut himself off, head ducking into Tony’s collarbone with another sound of approval. Tony couldn’t help his smirk. As a thirty-something, he kept in good shape, and knew he was fitter than a lot of men his age. 

“I did” he agreed, hitching Peter higher and grasping two handfuls of plump, round ass in order to keep the boy up as he turned, looking over Peter’s shoulder. His room, or Peter’s? For the sake of privacy, he chose his own, carrying the boy down the hall as he begun to nip and lick at his neck.

The haze of pleasure was almost enough to shield away the horror and panic he felt at the situation. Christ, he was really doing this. He was really about to fuck his dead friend’s sixteen year old son. 

And then Peter twisted, sucking a deep, sore hickey onto his collar and his mind blanked out. 

_Yes he fucking was. _

Peter squealed when Tony threw him down against the bedding, bouncing on the luxurious mattress. Tony gave him all of five seconds to catch his breath before he grasped Peter’s hips and flipped him, fingers snagging his waistband to drag those tiny, awful shorts down. 

Peter’s ass was exactly like all his dirty, perverted thoughts had imagined it to be, barring one tiny little scar that looked almost like a flower, smack in the centre of his right asscheek. It was plump and bounced lavishly when he stripped it of its covering, and nothing could stop him from dropping down, sinking his teeth right into the plump, round muscle. 

Peter shrieked, although Tony had not bitten hard enough to really hurt past a brief sting, and Tony laved his tongue over the pinked skin, pulling away. “Hands and knees, like a good bitch” he remarked,catching the way Peter looked over his shoulder with a mildly unimpressed expression. He paid it no heed, reaching for his belt buckl with one hand and the bedside cabinet with the other, where he kept a pot of lube as a stand-alone from his impressive collection. 

“What re you gonna do, old man?” Peter breathed out as he complied, squirming around on the bedding to push himself up. Tony’s gaze darkened and he shifted, quicker than Peter could react to, cracking his hand down on Peter’s ass. The sound filled the room, followed quickly by Peter’s squeal. Almost immediately a dark red handprint begun to blossom across the thick meat. 

“Anything I want to” he replied simply, punctuating it by tossing the lube onto the bed near Peter’s hands and snapping his belt free from its loops. It was worth it, for the full bodied shiver that Peter gave in response, hips arching so he could sneak a hand between his thighs. Tony flicked at his knuckles with a lick of his tongue. 

“You cum from what I give you, or you don’t cum at all” he commanded, a lazy smirk softening the hardness of the words as he dragged the expensive suit pants down his thighs, tossing them unceremoniously off into the distance. For good measure, he slapped Peter’s ass once more, admiring the resulting jiggle, though he kept the blow soft. 

“Should get on with it, then” Peter shot back, but the words had no force, outdone by his blown, glazed eyes and the desperate way he nibbled at his mouth, twitchy in place. Tony did’t let him wait long, crawling up onto the mattress behind Peter and without preamble diving down to nip at his asscheeks again, relishing in the brief jump of his hips before Peter pressed back against his teeth with a high whine. 

The slide from asscheeks to nuzzling between them was easy, lifting his hands to grab fistfuls of that pert flesh, spreading Peter wide so he could drag his stubble along the soft skin before he let his tongue flick out, a quick snake-flicker across the rosy, tight ring. Peter gave a soft, quiet whimper from above, thighs trembling as he squirmed. 

Tony would have teased him longer. Fucked Peter on his tongue for hours without letting him cum. But his own dick was screaming, and a sexless four months had him champing at the bit, desperate for a hot, tight grip on his cock. The thought of splitting Peter’s body open around him hammers hard on the urge to bury his face there - And he does, driving his tongue straight into the welcoming give of flesh. 

Peter is clean, the taste of soap lingering. He must’ve showered earlier. “Cleaned up, like a good slut” Tony spoke against Peter’s skin, hands rising to clamp at his hips to keep him still. Peter was gasping now, short and sharp with each thrust and curl of Tony’s tongue. The slow, easy give of muscle was familiar to Tony; licking Peter open like he was the sweetest of creams. 

Peter was so long in the low thrum of pleasure that he didn’t even notice Tony moving one hand, snaking it between Peter’s thighs to grasp the tub of lube. The boy’s head was hung low, hands fisted in the sheets as he mewled, hips grinding back slowly against Tony’s face. When Tony pulled back enough to press a lube-slick finger in place of his tongue, the insides of Peter’s asscheeks were red and raw. 

Tony sunk his teeth into the friction-burnt skin as Peter swallowed him to the last knuckle, easy and pliant. “O-Oh, _fuck_” Peter cursed, low an needy as he drove his hips back onto Tony’s touch. Peter was hot, tight. Body clinging to him like it was desperate. Peter was small enough that it took only the barest flex of hi finger to find it; the spot that had Peter arching like he was hooked to a live-wire. 

“F-_Fuck_! I’m gonna b-be as old as you by the time y-you fuck me. You waiting f-for it to get up?” Peter choked out, prompting a snarl from the older man. _Oh, that’s how you wanna play it?_ He drove his middle finger in alongside the first, no warning, no care. Peter yowled, cheeks ruddy and spine bending into an obscene arch. 

“Keep running that mouth, you little shit. See if I fuck you then. I’ll tie you to this bed and you won’t even get to _look _at your own cock until I say so” Tony growled back, digging his fingers into the meat of Peter’s ass. The boy mewled pathetically in response, body opening willingly for a third finger. He hadn’t been this rough with a partner for almost a year; would be concerned and disgusted with himself if not for the way Peter’s head fell to the mattress, mouth open, drooling over his own arm as his eyes rolled back in pleasure. 

He’d wallow in self-disgust later. Lock himself away, maybe. Like a twisted Rapunzel. Later, when he wasn’t splitting a sixteen year old open on three thick, long fingers. Later, when Peter wasn’t rocking bodily with the force of his gasps for air. Tony couldn’t contain the predatory smirk as he licked his way between his fingers, tasting the strangeness of the lube, the warmth of skin. 

His own cock hung thick and drooling, flushed. He had kept an iron will until now, but the sight of Peter’s hole stretched puffy and wet around his fingers was too much. “S’gonna be a tight fit” he warned, drawing away. Peter’s body tried to keep him there, clenching around his fingers until they slipped free with a wet sound. The boy breathed out a half-moan, hips dropping onto the bedding. Tony would have to change the entire duvet before he slept; but that was fine. 

He had to breathe as he drizzled lube in a soft line down his cock, lest he crush the tube. Peter’s hips were stuttering against the bed, seeking friction, but Tony allowed it as he wrapped a hand around himself, giving a few light, lazy stroked to smear the lube. “C-Can’t be that big” Peter managed after a moment, and Tony raised a brow before he surged upwards, draping himself bodily over Peter and so that his cock lay snug along the curve and dip of his ass. The tip drooled a small glob of pre-cum onto Peter’s tailbone and the boy breathed out a soft, weak _oh_. 

Tony grinned, bent forearms bracing his weight either side of Peter’s head. He could see the purse of Peter’s lips around the word, the way his lashes rose as his eyes widened. Peter felt so small this way, bracketed by his body, trapped only by the press of his hips and the weight of his cock. “Gonna behave like a good little slut, now?” He cooed, shifting his weight to run a hand through Peter’s hair. 

“Fuck me within the next minute and I W-_Oh, fuck I can’t - Mmph, Yes_.”. Peter’s voice trailed off into high keening and a wet, desperate whine. Tony had shifted, nudging Peter’s hips up just enough to spread his ass, the tip of his cock pressing in a relentless, slow slide home. The stretch of Peter’s slicked up hole around him was obscene, almost too much. 

Peter’s body was indescribable as he sunk into it. Tight - almost too tight to fit - and hot. Sucking him in like he was oxygen, velvet walls immediately milking at his cock as Peter shuddered beneath him, biting helplessly at the duvet. Tony had to stop the moment Peter’ body swallowed the tip of his cock in a quick, hot slide, his own arms shaking. Peter’s mindless blabble had died into heaving breaths. 

“Still want me to fuck you, huh? Still want me to pound you into the mattress until you’re too fuck-dumb to run your mouth?” Tony reached out shakily, gripping Peter’s hair to lift his head. The boy’s eyes fluttered closed, a weak moan gurgling in his throat as Tony turned, licking at the corner of his mouth. “Or do you regret being such a fucking brat?” He asked, punctuating it by a short snap of his hips that had Peter jolting forwards, scrabbling at the bedding, eyes flying open. 

Tony was just gentle enough with each punchy thrust to ensure that Peter wouldn’t tear as he finally hit as deep as he could go, Peter’s tongue lolled, nothing but broken sounds low in his throat as he breathed. It was almost too much for both of them, trembling and panting together, but then Peter was biting at his probing tongue and he chuckled, bracing his free arm in order to slam Peter’s head back down into the covers, pressing him there. 

“Should gag you. Fuck, yeah. I <strike>will</strike>. Gonna stuff your mouth full and make you sit at my feet while I work. That’ll keep you fucking quiet for once” he ground out as he pulled his hips back, a torturous slide. Peter’s body fought him the entire way, gripping at his cock hungrily. Tony only managed to draw out halfway before his resolve caved and he gripped Peter’s hair tighter, pulling as he forcefully shoved his hips forwards again. 

He did it twice more, letting go of Peter’s head in order to lean back, watching the way Peter’s body opened around him, the stretch of his ass pulling him deeper, his rim puffy and dark. “You’d like that, though. Greedy _slut_. You’d like being stuffed full on the daily” he murmured, slow an in the time it took to pull back, until his tip was stretching Peter’s rim, tugging. Peter whined in response, choked off and thick, and it ended in a punched out, blatant moan as Tony shifted, pressed a hand to the small of his back and forced himself in with another tight, fast thrust. 

“Spread your legs” he commanded, reaching between them to slap Peter’s asscheek again. The boy writhed and squirmed, whimpering at the tugs to his sensitive hole as he managed to rise a little to his knees, spreading his thighs so wide his body lowered again. It caused a delicious flex of muscle and the solid pressure of Tony’s cock against his prostate, both groaning in tandem. 

Tony shifted, sinking down low like Peter and getting comfortable, wrapping one arm around Peter’s lithe hips. It brought them closer, the heat of their bodies mingling as Tony ducked his head, mouthing sloppy kisses along Peter’s shoulders. Short, choppy thrusts to keep them going as he carefully nudged them into a position he could fuck Peter’s guts with. 

“Should have done this that night you paraded around like a little whore. All dolled up. You didn’t get what you needed then, you greedy little cumslut. You’ll get it now” Tony promised, soft in contrast to the way he begun to brutally fuck into Peter’s pliant, soft body. Each squeezing drag on his cock was lightning, tingling up his spine and lighting up his blood. 

Peter tried to move his arms and Tony shifted grasped his wrists and pinned them, knowing their aim. Peter mewled, pleading and weak, but Tony drank the sound away with his mouth, kissing him wet and sloppy as Peter merely gasped against him. The boy was nothing but sounds now, needy and breathless. It satisfied something feral within him. 

The lewd, sloppy smack of skin on skin drowned Peter’s weak sounds, rivalled only by Tony’s own grinding moans as he plowed down into the slick heat, mind spinning with the tight slide, the building pleasure. “Gonna stuff you full, Peter. Gonna fuck my cum into you, see if that tames you” he breathed into the boy’s ear, hand coming to brace at the headboard now as Peter writhed helplessly in the covers, unable to do anything but _take._

Was he the biggest Peter had ever taken? Was he the _first_ Peter had ever taken? Tony doubted it; the boy seemed too experienced to be a virgin. Tony pulled away enough to hitch Peter’s hips higher, bringing them closer together. It was rough, sloppy, dirty. Everything Tony loved from a good frustration-induced fucking. 

Tony rose to his knees, hauling Peter’s ass up, presented to his cock as he found his balance and fucked forwards, pulling Peter back onto his cock, relishing in the way his body moved restlessly, driven by pleasure. The high, desperate _uh uh uh_ sounds punched from him by the force of Tony’s thrusts. Tony knew he was hitting Peter’s sweet spot mercilessly, could see the way he pulled taut, face scrunched in bliss, fingers clenching at the bedding. 

Peter was a screamer when he came, Tony discovered. What begun as a series of whined moans built into Tony’s name, a shaped scream that cracked halfway through as Peter pushed himself back against Tony, spine arching almost to breaking point. Peter’s body closing around him like a vice bought Tony to the edge, burying himself deep and almost snarling as he came, a thick load that stuffed Peter full. 

He brought them both down gently, with careful, light nudges until they lay spooning, bodies heaving together as they caught their breath. When Tony moved to get them both cleaned up, he fund Peter pliant, still gasping for air but steadily succumbing to the pull of sleep, giving nothing more than a shaky keen as Tony pulled himself slowly from the plush heat. 

By the time he returned with a warm rag, Peter was sound asleep, curled atop the ruined bedding, face buried in Tony’s pillow. He sighed softly, already feeling the murky guilt creeping up, and he sat on the edge of the bed, wiped Peter down as carefully, as gently as he could, coated a finger in a soothing balm and smeared it around Peter’s fucked open, gaping hole. 

A glob of cum dripped along Peter’s rim and Tony caught it, pressing it back inside gently before he manoeuvred the boy slowly, tugging the blanket free and tossing it across the room before gathering his spare. He stood for a moment, just watching Peter breathe. The boy was covered in soft, pink patches from Tony’s grip, his ass bright pink and raw. His curls were mussed and his lips were dark, bitten red. But he looked peaceful, sweet. 

Tony lay behind him again, hesitating only a moment before cradling him close, pulling the blanket over them. Sleep did not come easily, but when it did it was deep, restful. He awoke slowly, sunlight bright through his windows and unforgiving. He could smell food, fresh and hot on the air and he groaned, rubbing at his eyes and wincing at the bone-deep ache vibrating around his thigh muscles. 

_Fuck. _

The horror of the night loomed above him, a snarling monster ready to bite; except the bed bounced and he jolted as hands closed around his forearms, pulling them aside. Peter was beaming as he threw a leg across Tony’s hips, straddling him over the blanket. The action came with a brief expression of pain, but Peter was still grinning as he ducked down, catching Tony’s slack mouth in a warm, deep kiss. 

“I made bacon. And fried eggs, light” Peter nodded to the bedside table, where a plate of fresh, hot breakfast stood ready. T

Tony blinked. “Am…Is this a coma? Or death? Have I _died_? Why are you _nice_?” He asked, still sleep-soft and confused as he propped himself to his elbows. 

Peter had to gall to look _offended_. 

Tony figured it out pretty quickly over the following five days. Over five days of breakfast in bed, of getting sucked off in every available area of the Tower, of Peter waking him up on the sixth day by simply sinking down onto his cock, head thrown back and spine arched, hands braced on his chest. 

“So you’re telling me” he begun, head tilting as he observed the boy. “That all I gotta do to keep you all sweet and pliant….Is fuck you stupid and stuff you full of cum?”. 

Peter blushed, even as he bounced on Tony’s cock without shame, eyes glassy and lips parted in ecstasy. It _was_, as it turns out. Tony tested it; avoiding the needy little whore for a week solid. The result was a nightmare: a cock-needy brat wrapped in a ruthless bitch of a boy that knocked over his morning coffee like a cat. 

But….As it also turned out, keeping the boy sweet was no hardship. Brutal, quick fucks before events became Tony’s favourite part of the damned things. Fucking Peter into the kitchen counter-top as their morning coffees brewed a close second to waking up to the boy feasting on his cock like a last meal.

Listening to interviewers rant on about how adorable and well behaved Peter was became a lot more tolerable after that. 


End file.
